The Holstentor (Holsten Gate) isn’t a subtle little arrangement and it was very much a statement of power as well as defence. Built between 1464 and 1478, it formed part of the western defences of Lübeck, guarding the road in from Holstein and the landward approach to one of northern Europe’s most powerful trading cities. It was part of a wider system of walls, towers, gates and waterways that protected the old town island, but it also worked as a statement of status. Anyone passing through it was being reminded that Lübeck was no ordinary city, but it was the leading force in the Hanseatic League, a merchant republic whose influence reached across the Baltic, the North Sea and deep into the commercial life of medieval Europe.
This is the city side of the gate, with the inscription reading “1477 · S.P.Q.L. · 1871” It looks medieval, but that is a little bit of nineteenth-century theatre which timed rather nicely with the advent of the new German Republic.. The letters S.P.Q.L. were modelled on Rome’s S.P.Q.R. and stand for Senatus Populusque Lubecensis, meaning “the Senate and People of Lübeck”.
The fascinating story for me about this gate, which is now much restored and faffed about with, is how some idiots nearly demolished it in the middle of the nineteenth century. At this time, the Holstentor was in a poor and rather embarrassing condition. It had sunk into the soft ground over the centuries, some of the lower defensive openings were already around half a metre below ground level and the whole structure was leaning and looked like it might collapse. Although I’ve already claimed it was an idiot that wanted it demolished, I can see their concerns here. This wasn’t a delightful medieval monument, it was a falling down large lump of brick inconvenience in the way of the railway line. All rather sub-optimal in very many ways.
Lübeck debated demolishing it for a full decade, from 1853 to 1863. The final decision came on 15 June 1863, when the city’s Bürgerschaft voted by 42 to 41 to keep it, a majority of one. Restoration began that same year and continued through to 1871, after which the gate’s meaning changed. It was no longer treated as a failing lump of obsolete fortification, but as the symbol of Lübeck’s medieval greatness and Hanseatic identity.
This is part of the series of interviews that I’m doing for the 2026 100, there’s lots more information about this event, and previous ones, at https://www.julianwhite.uk/ldwa-100/.
This interview is with Ercole Lugari who is looking forward to entering his first LDWA 100. Madeleine Watson, the national LDWA chair, will likely agree with his comment about tea!
Q. Could you briefly introduce yourself and say how you came to be involved with long-distance walking?
A. I am a seasoned endurance athlete whose running career is defined by remarkable consistency, a deep-rooted passion for community, and a horizon for distance that only continues to expand. My commitment to the sport is reflected in my membership with both my local running club and the prestigious 100 Marathon Club.
My journey began with Collingwood AC in Surrey, a club that was always a staunch supporter of the Winter Tanner, a local LDWA (Long Distance Walkers Association) staple. For me, that event traditionally marked the start of the new running year; I carry fond memories of navigating its great routes and battling through the iconic, heavy mud of the winter trails.
In recent years, those early experiences have come full circle. I have increasingly dedicated myself to LDWA events, embracing the unique challenges of long-distance navigation and the endurance required to push beyond the standard marathon distance.
Q. How many LDWA 100s have you completed before?
A. This will be my first LDWA 100 but I have run other 100 mile races before.
Q. What made you decide to take on this year’s 100 in Kent?
A. I was always want it to be part of it and last year managed to participate in one of the qualify events
Q. How has your training gone so far, and have you done anything differently in preparing for this event?
A. The training has been going well so far. This is part of training for another event called the Spine. The Spine Race is a non-stop, self-sufficient ultra-marathon that traverses the entire 268 miles (431km) of the Pennine Way, from Edale in the Peak District to Kirk Yetholm in the Scottish Borders.
Q. At this stage, how prepared do you feel?
A. I feel ready for the event and looking forward to make some friends on the way too
Q. What are your hopes or aspirations for the event? Is it about finishing, achieving a time, enjoying the route or something else entirely?
A. For me, these events are about more than just the miles; they are an opportunity to enjoy the route, connect with new friends, and utilize a well-organized 100-mile course as vital training for the challenge ahead in June
Q. What are you most looking forward to about the Kent 100?
A. The LDWA “Hundreds” are famous for their unique atmosphere and probably looking forward to seeing the Kent countryside (the “Garden of England”)
Q. Is there any part of the event that makes you nervous, whether that’s the distance, the night section, the weather, navigation, tiredness or something else?
A. Looking forward to explore physical fatigue and to meet deep sleep deprivation But most of it is not that uncertainty is exactly why we sign up, isn’t it?
Q. On a 100-mile walk, what do you think will get you through any difficult moments?
A. A long challenge always bring moment of joy and moments of low. Looking forward to explore both of them as they will present during the challenge
Q. Finally, any particular food or drink that you’re hoping to see on checkpoints that you particularly like?
A. Tea and cake for me are the best food. A cup of tea always makes things better!
Talking to Mira before the main event, she’s given me my favourite quote about the whole arrangement yet, “my mindedness is as bloody as ever” which I find rather inspirational.
Myself and the media team will catch up with Mira at the event, but here are a few quick questions and answers to get us started. Mira is going to recce some of the route with her friend Paul, part of the LDWA media team, over the next week. And, on the day, she’s planning to complete a park run before the 100 mile walk. That’s determination that is!
Q. How has your training fitted around everyday life this year?
A. I have a very busy life so most of my walking is done locally to me for maximum efficiency around school runs and work. Paul being my best friend and training buddy helps a lot as it means I have someone to do random DIY long walks with locally to me so it’s not all by myself.
I also hate missing parkrun so he and I often design a DIY marathon or long walk that starts with a parkrun and then continues on in that area as a day walk; a couple weeks ago we did Lowestoft parkrun and then walked from Lowestoft along the coastal path and then got the bus back to the car, we like to pack in whatever we can and every walk with Paul is an adventure walk.
Q. What do you think will be the biggest challenge for you personally during the event?
A. The relative hilliness and toughness of this years route relative to the last few years I’ve done 100s, my last comparably tough 100 route was Hadrian in 2019 and I’ve had two children since then so will be taking a lot of vitamins I and P (ibuprofen and paracetamol) I reckon to get round.
Q. How do you manage the mental side of long-distance walking when tiredness starts to take over?
A. The biggest trick I use is to tell myself if I don’t finish the event, anything hard I’ve experienced thus far will be rendered hard for no reason at all. If I complete it, at least my struggle will have had a purpose. Talking a lot of crap with people also helps as a distraction. And having something to look forward to all the time. Like ‘at the next checkpoint I’ll have two cups of tea, or I’ll change my socks’ — I tell myself that thing over and over as I get through a hard section.
I also always tell myself I’m gonna finish which is controversial as most people say ‘well IF I finish it’ll be my Xth 100’ but I always say ‘when I finish’ because I don’t like to tell myself there’s any possibility of not doing it.
Q. What food do you look forward to at checkpoints?
A. Mac n cheese , anything homemade like homemade flapjacks or cake when that appears, crumpets, pizza, little yoghurts.
A. What would make this year’s LDWA 100 feel like a success for you?
As always, getting it done. That’s the only important thing. Everything else is out of your control.
Q. If someone was standing at the start of their first 100 and feeling nervous, what would you say to them?
A. That it’s all in the mind so as long as they keep telling themselves to keep going and take the rest they need at checkpoints, they’ll get round Never put speed over comfort or else you may risk wearing yourself out.
With two of our regular team unable to make this week, we had a little bit of excitement to get a team together tonight for this third match. However, we were able to get six players together and the rest of the team spent the early evening practising whilst I focused on finding the best pairing of beer and bar snacks. I went for 0% Guinness and Squares, quite a classy little combination.
Look at the contemplation from Cal before the other team arrived…… We were in the zone. Well, I was eating crisps and was pre-stressed, but the others were more positive.
We have some dramatic photos of me in this post thanks to Cal, who was helpfully documenting matters. Here’s myself and my very capable vice-captain Luke as we did the draw. Thanks to Cal for the clipboard and for the printing as the not quite as capable team captain managed to forget to bring a score-sheet.
And here’s the draw.
I thought that I’d referee the first game which was with the first time league player Cal as I try to be helpful.
We had a lot of interesting table layouts during the evening. I didn’t doubt that Cal was good, but he was very calm and collected with an entirely competent performance. It transpired that his score was the highest singles score of the evening, so I’ve decided that we’ll keep him.
I felt that Cal’s victory meant that I should reward myself with more Squares. Leadership takes many forms.
The next game was with Vaughan and once again I was ignored when I said that I didn’t want any games going to the final ball as they’re too stressful for me. He won the game by just ten points on the final ball…..
PJ’s game went the same way, but the final ball result went our way, which meant that we were 3-0 ahead and I could put us 4-0 up if I was any bloody good.
Thanks to Cal, there are the occasional photos of me playing in this post. I don’t wish to talk about my game though. OK, perhaps I should…. It was very close throughout, but my opponent was very strong at the end and I lost by 990 points to 850. My usual strategy is to try and score 1,000 points and that would have been dead handy here. Had I scored another 150 points, the result would have been completely different. I intend to apply this insight to all my future sporting disappointments.
Cal getting ready to serve the meal of snacks. I had ensured that this was served after my game as I wanted something to look forwards to and to settle my nerves.
Hmmmm, Taytos…. Next up was Gabriel, who insisted on getting to the final shot despite it being made very clear by Luke and myself that this is very stressful for us. Gabriel didn’t make this one, but his game was solid and he was very close.
The final player in the singles was Luke and the game was again very close throughout, he lost by just 40 points. This all meant that we had gone from 3-0 ahead to 3-3, so thoughts of the Black Stars last week came to mind…
Gabriel started to teach various players some hand gestures, but I didn’t get involved with that. Whatever he was actually doing remains unclear to me and I doubt whether any of it is recognised by Sport England.
And then there were three games in the doubles. PJ and Cal surged to nearly 900 ahead, but then the brave players on the other team clawed it right back. But, PJ and Cal triumphed meaning that Luke and I could win the whole game if we just won our game. We didn’t, which made it 4-4 and which put all the pressure on Vaughan and Gabriel. Suddenly the room had the atmosphere of a courtroom waiting for a verdict, except with better crisps. But they surprised and delighted the Artichoke Hearts with a win, a punchy performance which once again went down to the final ball.
A very hard won set of games, but full credit to the Coach and Horses team for not only some very close games but also being a marvellous group of people. There is a real pleasure in playing a team who are both good company and good players, even if it does make winning rather harder than I personally prefer. Cal’s first league appearance was alarmingly competent, which is always a little unsettling when given that my strategy is to build a team culture around anxious improvisation.
I have a new rule that every time the team wins, I go to the King’s Head to celebrate. With no Julian sr, as he’s in Liverpool, it was Cal who was called upon to escort me to the pub. A more professional athlete might have gone home, stretched and hydrated, but I went to the pub and declared the evening a success, which is broadly the same thing. We only went for one, although I got muddled up and we stayed until the pub closed. This wasn’t my fault though, these things happen when a strict sporting recovery protocol is not properly supervised.
And I’d like to note that it’s a fine team, a great atmosphere throughout and it’s all very exciting. And stressful when every game goes down to the wire. Next game is in Coltishall in two weeks and I’ll pretend that everything is under control.
I’m enjoying this. Although I won’t show that of course.
This board is at the RNLI Historic Lifeboat Collection at Chatham and it records the first lifeboat at the Banff and Macduff station. The lifeboat was presented to the Royal National Lifeboat Institution in 1859 by Messrs Macfie & Sons, before being replaced by a new boat in 1870.
In that relatively short service it helped save the crews of the schooner Auchincruive of Grangemouth in 1861 and the brig Regina of Swinemünde (now Świnoujście in Poland) in 1870, rescuing fifteen men in total, as well as being launched on four other occasions to assist vessels in distress.
What rather interested me is why this particular board was at Chatham, but the lifeboat station was closed in 1924 and so this was likely placed in safe storage. There had been problems finding crew during the First World War, so the lifeboat station had been temporarily closed in 1917, but continued crewing difficulties made the closure permanent.
Richard Lewis (1822-1883) was the Secretary of the RNLI between 1850 and 1883, credited with turning around the fortunes of a then depleted and financially deprived organisation into a world class search and rescue service.
I’m pleased that someone with some initiative ensured that this board was kept, so much is just thrown into skips and the heritage lost forever.
So, the shopping centre at Anglia Square is pretty much all gone now. There are some walls that are still coming down, but it’s nearly entirely rubble and there’s no evidence at all of the Greggs that once stood here. It’ll now be the turn of the larger buildings to be demolished, they present different challenges and may well require specialist asbestos removing handling as well.
Carrying on from part one, this all looks rather refined. I suspect that this wasn’t for the junior members of crew on-board the submarine….
Here’s a photo of a sink. Never let it be said that this blog doesn’t have riveting and fascinating content.
It is genuinely impressive how everything on board this submarine was designed to use as little space as possible. In the days before IT and computers to help with the design, putting this whole thing together must have been a monumental challenge. Combining torpedoes for military use as well as sinks to try and make conditions vaguely comfortable for those on the submarine must have required some ingenuity.
One thing not mentioned by the museum is that when this submarine was decommissioned and sent back to Chatham to go on display, much of the interior was stripped out. Some of the submarines were still in operation around the world and the last thing anyone wanted was for the Soviets to have a little day out at the museum and promptly see how everything fitted together. Much has been restored back to how it might have looked, but many of the fittings aren’t original and elements such as the TV and video player in a previous photo were sourced from elsewhere.
The sound room where operators would monitor the sonar equipment if they could find space to sit down.
There were a lot of these dials everywhere and I’m sure that they all displayed important information about what was happening in the submarine. One slight problem of the limited space of the tour is that the guide was at the front and anyone further back wasn’t going to hear anything that she might be saying. The one exception to this is when she stopped in an area to ensure that we all knew to have a look through the periscope.
Always handy to have a map as it’s not easy to just have a little look out of the window.
There’s certainly a lot going on here and it was mentioned that submarines aren’t so much driven as balanced, with everything having to be at the right depth, angle and buoyancy. This is something that my friend Liam would manage well, I’d probably be quite good at checking the food stocks were in order.
The engineers on board who understood all of this really would have deserved their pay.
Every valve and dial likely has a consequence, I was quite engaged with just how much of this there was on board.
The communications room and this is somewhere that I might have been able to manage in.
The luxury toilet facilities on board.
Now this is exciting, the heart of the submarine’s operations, the kitchen. Being the chef here must have been challenging, there were around seventy men to feed on board the submarine and there’s not a huge amount of space here to do that.
An example menu.
I had to Google this, “snorting” is the process by which a submarine operates its diesel engines whilst they are submerged.
There seemed like hundreds of metres of wires snaking around the submarine.
A more spacious crew room, although that’s all a bit relative. I imagine it’s something that everyone got used to, with tours lasting for around eight weeks on average, but I’m sure that there must have been a fair few flare-ups between slightly annoyed submariners.
At least they’re not stacked three high down this end of the submarine.
And that was the end of the tour and it all lasted for around twenty minutes. The tours must be constant as another group was entering the submarine at the far end just as we were departing. The guide said that the history of the submarine’s tours was still covered by the Official Secrets Act and so it wasn’t known where Ocelot went around the world, although it’s fairly certain that it was used heavily in the Cold War. As for whether it was used in the Falklands War, there’s no official answer.
It was all very interesting and the dry dock arrangement here shows the scale and size of the submarine. I did ask the guide about how hot it would have been on board and she said that it was often uncomfortably warm even with the air circulation systems that were in place. There was someone on the tour who used to serve on the submarine, but he was at the back of the group and so if he was offering little pearls of knowledge, I didn’t hear them.
Although there were three more submarines made for the Canadian Navy, this was the end for the Royal Navy at Chatham. Investment was made to allow for the construction and repair of nuclear submarines, but no more were built here. It was announced in 1981 that the site would close in 1984 and although the Falklands War meant the dockyard was used again, it was still closed as expected.
This is HMS Ocelot was the last warship to be made at Chatham and it was launched from No. 7 slip on 5 May 1962, being commissioned into the Royal Navy on 31 January 1964. Chatham had been making submarines since 1908 and had constructed 57 of them over the years, but this was very much the end of an era.
The museum offers free guided tours of the submarine, but they have to be booked and this was the one that was recommended to me in the limited time that I had at the museum. I got there for the tour and noticed that we all had to fit through a circle of this size. I had to have quite a think about that as although I’m an athlete, it did look rather small.
The tour was led by Nat and she was cheerful and personable in the morning. Her task was to guide visitors through the submarine without getting stuck or annoyed, whilst trying to give some history about the whole arrangement.
Ocelot was about 295 feet long overall and had diesel generators and electric motors. This set-up meant that it could travel more quietly submerged than many earlier boats, which was handy during the Cold War when surveillance and intelligence work were important.
The first thing was to get on board the thing and that wasn’t using those steps, but they looked quite similar. I remember in Baltimore, United States, when I went on a guided tour of something similar that I commented on my bravery to the guide. A former member of the US navy giving the tour said that I gave the impression of someone from the Canadian navy, but I ignored that. Anyway, I digress.
After I had nimbly climbed down the steps, the first thing that was visible were the torpedo tubes. There were six at the bow, with another two at the other end, three arranged on each side. The submarine carried 24 of the Mark 8 torpedoes, the rest were handily arranged on the wall in what was already a confined space.
Inside the torpedo tube and the whole process was carefully controlled so the crew could load the weapon from inside the submarine, shut the inner door, flood the tube, open the outer door and fire. After firing, the outer door would be closed, the tube drained and the cycle could begin again. It was a highly disciplined little arrangement because the admiral, or whatever they’re called on a submarine, would likely be annoyed if their submarine had water flooding in.
This little number must have been handy to read in the necessity of getting off the submarine quickly. I’m sure the training for this must have been extensive, if the submarine couldn’t surface then a controlled pressure chamber was the only route off. There seem to be some spelling mistakes on this which would fill me with confidence if I was standing there waiting to be evacuated. But, this is why I’m not in the Royal Navy as I suspect I would focus on matters that weren’t entirely important.
The sleeping area and that must have been dead handy when someone decided that they wanted to play board games. It’s not what I would call spacious, but I doubt many people become submariners if they like having their own space.
The entertainment area for those on board. The submarine was taken out of Royal Navy service in August 1991 and was returned to Chatham in 1992 to be used at the museum.
More of the sleeping areas.
These are the steps up that were visible in my earlier photo. They look a bit steep to me, but I’m scared of heights (and quite a lot of other things).
Sleeping quarters for more decadent members of the crew.
There really wasn’t much space along here. I didn’t take a photo of it, as I was quite focused on not getting stuck, but getting through the hatches wasn’t entirely easy. I’m not saying it was like an obstacle course, but it required grabbing the bar above the hatch and then swinging through into the next stage. Fortunately the woman behind me was about as athletic as my friend Richard, so I didn’t have anyone rushing me as she was having her own dramas.
Anyway, more to follow in this riveting series of posts about a submarine…..
At first glance, the No. 3 Slip Cover at Chatham is a very large wooden shed and Britain has never been short of those, but this one has rather more going on. Built in 1838, it was designed to shelter ships while they were being constructed on the slip beneath, protecting the timber from rain, sun and the general damp enthusiasm of the Medway. When you’re building wooden warships, you don’t really want them getting damp before they’re ready.
The building was designed by Sir Robert Seppings and the curved apse at its landward end was designed to accommodate a ship’s bow. Although buildings of this kind were constructed around the world, there aren’t many surviving and that’s not surprising as they’re not the most subtle arrangement.
There was a lift up here, but as I’m an athlete, I decided to walk up the stairs. I wondered at the time what this floor was doing here in a huge building designed to build ships, but it was added in 1904 to store boats when the whole arrangement became more of a storage shed.
This photo of underneath the mezzanine floor shows the scale of the building. As I had arrived early in the day, there were no other visitors in this area yet, it had a feeling of being a forbidden space with all this junk (or exhibits as the museum might call them) around.
The Chatham Chest didn’t look too exciting to me at first, but it’s what it represents which is perhaps more important. Established in the late sixteenth century, the Chatham Chest was an early naval welfare fund, created to support seamen who had been wounded, disabled or otherwise left unable to work after service at sea. Long before the modern welfare state, pensions bureaucracy and endless forms, this was an attempt to recognise sailors as individuals who needed support after the end of their service.
Sailors contributed a portion of their pay into the fund and money from the chest was then used to provide relief for those who had suffered injury in service. This arrangement is the beginning of institutional responsibility and also there’s a constant that the authorities didn’t really trust those looking after it as it had five different locks to prevent fraud. This tactic didn’t work as money went missing and then King Charles I decided that he would use some to pay off some of his debts. Very handy for the pensioners who were entitled to the money from the chest.
In 1814, after the long pressures of the Napoleonic Wars, the Chatham Chest was amalgamated with Greenwich Hospital, which had become the more formal national institution for supporting naval pensioners. The chest was moved to the National Maritime Museum and, more recently, to Chatham.
I rather like what the museum has done here with its curation of the exhibits as this fund was created by Admiral Sir John Hawkins (1532 – 1595) making him one of the founders of the principle of a welfare state. He has been held in huge regard and in the twentieth century the Royal Navy named a ship after him. Things are more complex and his reputation is being examined as Hawkins was also involved in slavery, but rather than tell visitors what to think, they’ve neatly just told the story from both sides.
